errands
by apocalyvse
Summary: Celia runs into some trouble. Hades owes her a debt.


The gates slam so loudly that it echoes all the way down to Hades' cave and disturbs him from his slumber.

He rises quickly and uncomfortably to consciousness, suddenly aware of the chill in the air and the hard edge of his chair (which is not really a chair, but some old metal contraption pretending to be a chair) pressing against his back. Over in the corner, the record player plays several dog barks and then crackles with white noise, never to let the silence settle. In the distance, he can just hear the continued disturbance at the surface of the mines; banging and clattering and a great deal of shouting. It's all very annoying to listen to.

And over that is the sound of feet running, soft and light and confident in their path downward. He has a feeling he knows who that will be.

The dog barks, loud and abrasive, and the sound of it drowns it all out for a brief few seconds. _Gods_, does he miss Cerberus in that moment. He's done all he can to make this dismal catacomb feel like home, but it will never be anything but a poor imitation of the underworld, and a scratchy old record is not half the same as a giant, three-headed dog. The moment it quietens, he can hear them again, not even a little bit intimidated by the noise.

Groaning, he shifts to a slightly more comfortable position and tries to will himself back to sleep, but to no avail. He's listening to the running footsteps now, echoing louder and louder as they draw closer. They sound urgent. Urgent is not good. Urgent means he has to get up and do something, and he doesn't like getting up before he is ready. He's a bit more of a nocturnal creature these days, and whatever is going on out there sounds like a middle-of-the-day kind of issue.

Middle of the day means sunlight and crowds, and ratty little children crawling out from under their parents' noses. _Ugh_. The only good crowd was a dead crowd, and the only good children were-

Okay, _maybe_ not dead. It's possible he's being a _little_ dramatic. The only good children are _silent_ children. Or amusing children, maybe. He didn't really mind kids, when they were the right kind of kids; he abhorred brats and whiners.

He doesn't see Celia enter the room, but he hears her, boots echoing around the chamber as she bolts down the first set of steps and stops short at the second, probably staring at him. "You're early," he says to the room at large, his voice carefully measured. He can still hear the commotion outside.

"I got run off the docks," Celia explains breathlessly. "By the street rats." She _literally_ ran off, obviously. And it must be supply day, which means it's Tuesday, which means he's lost track of the days again. _Ugh_.

There's a rustling and a scraping, and finally Hades opens his eyes to find her clearing off a space on the small table in the corner so that she can unload her bag of supplies. It's a smaller haul than she usually brings, barely enough food to get him through the week. He makes no move to help her.

"Would these street rats be the ones trying to break down my front door?" he asks as she works.

She pauses for a moment, like she's thinking about lying to him. "I couldn't shake them," she admits eventually, which is a smart move for everyone.

"So you brought them _here_?" he says, in a voice that would make anyone else quail in fear.

Celia, unperturbed, turns on her heel and stares him down. "They're only chasing me because of you," she says, crossing her arms. "They want to know why I get the best stuff. And the _most_ stuff."

"I don't go outside just to scare a few children," Hades replies and stands up, straightening his jacket.

"You owe me," Celia informs him, like he's forgotten the deal they'd made when he hired her. "I run your errands, you make sure no one bothers me while I do it. It's your turn to pay up."

He pulls a face at the idea of it and stalks across the room. "Toughen up, princess," he growls as he pushes past her. "Learn to deal with your own problems."

"Uh, I am _not _a princess," she says with the kind of attitude that normally amuses him. "And I _know_ how to take care of myself. That's why I hang out with you, remember?" She's getting bold. He should put a plug in that before it gets out of control, but he enjoys these conversations a little too much for that. To put out her fire would be an awful shame.

But, it does mean he will have to go out and hold up his end of the bargain they'd struck years ago, when she'd first come creeping down here. The bargain he should have known he'd have to keep up eventually (when a small child comes offering you terms to the agreement other than 'pay me in candy', it's safe to assume she's not going to grow up an idiot).

"Fine," he grumbles, making sure to put the right kind of emphasis on the word so that she knows how much of an inconvenience this is for him. If she gets the hint, she doesn't react.

"Yay!" she says with a voice so shiny and bright that it belies the cunning spark in her eyes. Hades only rolls his in response and stomps back to his chair to get the ember. She gives him her most winning smile as he makes his way up into the old mining tunnels.

He covers the long distance from his cavern deep underground to the surface in record time, his long strides leaving Celia struggling to keep up. She doesn't complain once though; quietly, he is pleased with her. Not much of a princess after all.

As he walks, the swish of his coat echoing angrily up and down the tunnels, his fingers find the ember in his pocket. It is warm in his palm, just barely burning with the fire and might of Hell. He reaches for its power on instinct, and swallows his disappointment when there is no flood of fire through his veins. It hadn't worked in twenty years, no matter how angry or grievous or downright _mad _he became. It wasn't going to work now.

The fools at his front door have lost the heat of their anger by the time he comes storming from the shadows, wearing his best murder face. They sound like they're having _fun_ now, of all things, fighting amongst themselves and throwing stones at his 'BEWARE OF DOG' sign, and erupting into raucous laughter whenever it suits them. _Street rats_ is an accurate description of them; they are all young, teenagers or below, and all dressed in rags. Not one of them looks like they've had a proper meal in their lives, not that malnutrition has crushed their enthusiasm for making his life a misery.

The lock clicks and the gates swing open at his command (he may be relegated to party tricks, but at least he pulls them off with _style_). The slam of the gates catches the attention of the teens. He dodges an errant rock, and takes one step out into the sunlight.

"Can you _READ_?" he bellows at the silent crowd, pointing to the _GET LOST_ sign above his head. "Off my doorstep, or I'll roast you alive and feed you to my dog!" He holds the ember aloft, so all can see it, and feels the searing heat of Hellfire as it alights in his scalp - a feeble flame, all he is capable of here, but enough. Most of them back away, suitably cowed.

One brave boy steps forward. Their leader? Hades hopes not. He's runty, a foot shorter than any of the others, and wears a pouty little scowl like he was born with it. "You ain't gotta dog," he says, and Hades decides he's probably stupid as well as ugly. "Ain't no dogs on the Isle."

Hades fixes his gaze on the boy. "You're welcome to come in and meet him, if you like," he offers, in the sort of voice that suggests this would not be a good idea at all.

"C'mon Spade, don't be dumb," another boy hisses, and ventures forth far enough to pull his friend away. "Let's go." Like a spell being broken, the children scatter, disappearing into the twisting alleys around them without so much as a whisper more of defiance.

Hades turns back to Celia with a grin and a flourish. "Impressive," she comments from where she stands, leaning against his dog sign, and only just manages to make it sound genuine.

"I might be an old dog, but I've still got my tricks," he quips, slipping the ember back into his pocket.

She pulls a face, and advises, "That sounded better in your head."

His grin disappears. "Stop loitering next to my sign," he tells her and stomps off back inside. She's getting cheeky now, and it's too bright out here anyway.

"Pleasure doing business with you!" Celia calls after him. He offers her a wave over his shoulder as he walks away, and pretends not to hear her laughing at him as she closes the gates.


End file.
